


while the rhythms boom

by sickly _sweet (infectedsense)



Category: The Lonely Island - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, initially dubcon due to drug effects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedsense/pseuds/sickly%20_sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Just let yourself feel it," he says, eyes flashing from blue to green to red.  "Feel the music, man.  It’s amazing."  He’s tugging on Akiva’s hand, still dancing.  "Trust me, Kiv.  Dance with me."</i>
</p>
<p>In which Jorma wants to get fucked up, Akiva is anxious, Andy smooths things out.  And there are some things you can't blame totally on the ecstasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	while the rhythms boom

**Author's Note:**

> 2010 repost from my Livejournal, sickly_sweet
> 
> Another new fandom for AO3, woop woop

”I’m just saying, it’s our first night out since we moved to LA, and I think we should make it good!” Jorma looks between the other two with wide eyes, appealing for support.

“Yeah, but...” Akiva looks slightly uncomfortable. “Ecstasy? I mean, we’ve never done that.”

“I have,” says Andy, and Akiva turns to him, surprised.

“When?”

“College, duh.”

“Oh great,” Akiva grumbles. “So I’m just the dork who never did drugs at college.”

“Come on, Kiv,” Jorma says, “no one said you were a dork.”

“But we were thinking it,” Andy grins, making Jorma snort with laughter. Akiva rolls his eyes, slumping in his chair.

“I am so sick of you guys and all of your _experiences_. Fine, let’s take some pills, whatever. I’m sure _this_ won’t end badly.”

“God you’re such an asshole!” Andy exclaims, yanking Akiva unceremoniously to his feet. “For once can we just go out and get fucked up without you _complaining_ about it? What are you, like, allergic to fun?”

“I’m allergic to your _face_ ,” Akiva replies, then grins. “I gotta change, meet by the front door in five.”

It’s a short walk to downtown from the apartment, but the three of them are still sticky with sweat by the time they get to the club, the inner city summer heat oppressive even at twilight. Andy, wearing a black button down and blue jeans, stops and eyes the place critically.

“Man, this is some dive.”

“What did you expect?” Akiva replies, fingers skimming over his hair to make sure it hasn’t flopped in the heat. “We can’t afford the clubs in the good part of town.” For some reason he’s wearing a yellow t-shirt of Andy’s that has his name printed across the chest, a blue zip-up hoodie thrown on over it. Andy hasn’t noticed yet.

“As long as they serve alcohol it could be the most rat-infested diseased club on the planet and I’d still be going in,” Jorma grins, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “First round’s on me, guys. Tequila slammers.”

“Your excitement is adorable,” Akiva says dryly. Of the three, Jorma has clearly put the most effort into his outfit, dressed as he is in a tight fitting t-shirt printed with the name of some obscure indie band, a black jacket and jeans and a pair of sunglasses resting on his head. It might look like he is taking himself too seriously if not for the red bandanna knotted around his neck that ruins any possible aura of coolness he might otherwise have had.

Andy is the first to head inside, looking back expectantly to make sure the others are right behind him. And naturally, they are.

There are no bouncers, just a bored looking girl sitting at a table who exchanges their two dollars apiece for beer tickets. Through another door and it’s dark and smoky, loud dance music swallowing them up. The club is tiny, a box with a bar along one side, a dj set up behind another table, maybe twenty five people inside. Akiva estimates that if ten more showed up they’d all be crammed elbow to elbow.

Jorma wasn’t kidding about the shots. He buys them two each, making Andy laugh.

“Man, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to get me drunk so you could take advantage of me,” he shouts over the music. Jorma just grins again and downs his in quick succession, and there’s nothing to do but follow suit, the alcohol burning on the way down and wrapping around their minds quickly. Andy is scoping out prospects. He leans over to Jorma.

“Ask those girls, they’re having way too much fun to be clean.”

Akiva watches as Jorma approaches the four girls currently tearing up the dance floor with no hesitation. After a few seconds of talking he heads back, flashing a thumbs up.

“They said they can hook us up in five,” he says, and Akiva feels a note of anxiety in his stomach. Andy turns back to the bar and gets rid of the beer tickets, handing out the bottles to the others. They drink and nod along to the music a little awkwardly. The night will be slow until they’re drunk, it always is. Andy wishes he’d had more to drink at the apartment first, but they can barely afford beer anymore. He’s got a quarter bottle of Jack stashed in his room that he’s portioning out until they start making more money, and he doesn’t want to use it up all at once because it’s all he has left.

In a little while one of the girls comes over and grabs Jorma, leading him over to a guy who Akiva realises has been lurking in the corner the whole time, looking the very definition of shifty. This fact does nothing to settle his nerves as he watches Jorma complete the transaction and head back over with a bounce in his step.

“He says this is good stuff.”

“Duh,” Andy replies, “of course he said that!”

“Whatever. I got us one each, ten bucks. Let’s do this!” He opens his fist to reveal three little white pills in his palm. They all take one, Akiva holding his gingerly between his fingertips. He’s popped Aspirin bigger than this, but somehow he doesn’t think this pill is designed to get rid of a headache. He doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to do. He’s always been a drink kind of guy, nothing more. When he looks up, Jorma is already washing his tablet down with beer. When he glances at Andy his friend smiles and places his own on his tongue, letting it dissolve. Akiva forces a smile and tries not to worry. Plenty of people take pills at clubs, right? He wishes it wasn’t a big deal to him. The whole thing is making him feel like a little kid next to Andy and Jorma, who are totally at ease.

Jorma bounces away to the dance floor, and after a quick glance to make sure he’s no longer paying them any attention, Andy slides an arm around Akiva’s shoulders.

“It’s okay, man. Just take half. I won’t tell.”

Akiva smiles awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin your night or anything.”

“You’re not ruining shit.” Andy squeezes, and it’s intensely comforting. “I want all of us to have a good time, and you won’t if you take something that you don’t want to. I wouldn’t make you.”

“I want to,” Akiva says. He takes a steadying breath then slips the pill into his mouth, washing it down with beer. He meets Andy’s apprehensive look with determination. “Okay, it’s done. Now what?”

“It’ll kick in soon,” Andy says, eyes drifting to where Jorma is lining up several shots along the bar. “When it does, just go with it and relax. You’ll be fine if you do that.”

Akiva nods and waits for something to happen.

***

Jorma is on a mission. Actually, he’s on two missions: to get as fucked up as possible, and to find a woman stupid and/or drunk enough to let him go home with her. The reason for the second mission isn’t as predatory as one might assume; when they had moved into their apartment, Andy and Akiva had called dibs on the two better bedrooms, leaving Jorma with what he referred to, with no affection whatsoever, as ‘Craphole, California’. Jorma doesn’t consider his bedroom fit for human habitation (although the ‘roaches clearly feel right at home there). It’s cold all year round, even when the outside temperature is in the nineties, and he’s developing a nasty cough from the persistent damp. On top of everything, there’s barely enough room for a single bed in there, let alone anything else. So any opportunity that Jorma is given to spend a night somewhere other than his bedroom is an opportunity he seizes with both hands.

He buys more shots while he waits for the drug to kick in, knocking them back quickly, wincing just slightly at the taste. Then, in a rare moment of sensibility, he asks the bartender for a glass of water too. Well, he wants to have fun, but he doesn’t want to die of dehydration.

Warmth from the alcohol floods his system and he starts to move towards the girls he’d talked to earlier. He knows he looks good tonight, and he feels good. Invincible. They turn as he approaches them, smiling.

“What’s up?” he shouts to the pretty brunette, leaning in close. “I’m Jorma.”

“That’s a stupid name,” she says, glancing at her friends who are giggling.

“So you wanna dance?” he asks, and she laughs.

“No, not really.”

Jorma is not one to give up easily. “Well, I’m going to. I’ll be dancing right here if you change your mind. I’m a great dancer.”

“Whatever,” she says, and the four of them walk away from him. Jorma watches them go, sips from his cup of water.

“Stuck-up bitches,” he says to himself.

***

Every song sounds the same but Andy doesn’t care, as long as the rhythm remains. It feels like the music is flowing through his veins, making his heart pound and his body move. It’s an incredible feeling and he starts to laugh breathlessly, opening his eyes to search for Akiva.

“Dude, this club is awesome!” he shouts over the beat. “Isn’t this awesome? I feel awesome!” He fumbles with his shirt until the top few buttons are open, sweat gleaming on the exposed skin. A few feet away Jorma has taken things one step further and discarded his jacket and shirt completely, nothing but a blur of limbs in the coloured lights.

Akiva is clutching at a plastic cup full of ice water like it’s a lifeline, motionless and looking around with wide eyes. Andy dances a few steps closer and grabs his hand.

“Just let yourself feel it,” he says, eyes flashing from blue to green to red. “Feel the music, man. It’s amazing.” He’s tugging on Akiva’s hand, still dancing. “Trust me, Kiv. Dance with me.”

Akiva lets Andy grab his other hand, dropping the cup to the floor, and at the contact it’s like everything clicks into place. Andy’s fingers slide up and curl around his wrists and suddenly Akiva is moving in perfect synch. The bassline punches in his temples and the melody trips through his brain and everything else simply melts away until it’s just the music and Andy in front of him, his body arcing and flowing like liquid. Where Andy is still holding onto him he starts to tingle and the feeling spreads, washing over him in a wave that’s euphoric and makes his mouth fall open. Andy is laughing again, shimmering and dancing and laughing, and Akiva starts to laugh too.

“Wow, oh wow,” he says, and Andy doesn’t let go of him, not for a very long time.

***

“This is a great club man, seriously, I’m gonna come here every day, do you come here every day? This song is incredible, hey where did you get that shirt man, it’s really...”

“Dude, get the fuck out of my face,” the guy says, giving Jorma one hard shove to prove his point. Jorma stumbles and only keeps his balance by grabbing onto a girl he bumps into, making her shriek. The next moment a meaty hand is wrapped around the bandanna still hanging from his neck and he is dragged nose-to-nose with the biggest, meanest looking man in the club. Bulging biceps covered in messy tattoos and a look of pure rage in his eyes. That kind of man. Jorma blinks.

“Hey, what’s the problem?”

“You touching my girl is the fucking problem,” the man snarls, shaking Jorma like a rag doll, which doesn’t help him gather his wits at all. He has just enough rational thought left to know that he needs to back the fuck down if he wants to end the night not covered in his own blood, and he raises his hands in apology.

“I’m sorry. Really, truly, sorry. I had no idea.”

“You better watch what the fuck you’re doing, kid,” the burly man spits, letting go of Jorma and stalking away to the bar. Jorma’s hands are still up, as if to steady himself, as he stands in the middle of the dance floor, bewildered. Then a grin spreads across his face, and he lets the music throb back into his veins, taking him over again.

Oh yeah. Fucking _invincible_.

***

The next time Akiva opens his eyes Andy is still moving but he’s staring at him intensely. His shirt is completely open now and the white of his skin against the black shirt is startling, enhanced by the lighting and the movement, and Akiva doesn’t realise he’s reaching out until his palm is flat against Andy’s stomach. His fingers splay out, pressing against flesh that’s sticky and gives slightly at the pressure, feeling the muscles move as Andy keeps dancing in what seems like slow motion. His other hand creeps up and finds the base of Andy’s neck, holding on tight as he feels a jolt pass through him like a connection has been made. Akiva’s eyes track upwards and he finds Andy’s are closed, his lips parted. A moment, or maybe an eternity, later Andy’s hands are sliding along his arms from wrist to shoulder, strengthening the bond that Akiva feels between them, the rhythm and euphoria flowing from one to the other. They both tip their heads forward until they’re leaning against each other, dancing and breathing while the music is still pounding, and Akiva doesn’t ever want this feeling to end.

“Is it supposed to feel like this?” he breathes. Andy just laughs again, opens his eyes and they’re so close together, the bass vibrating through their bones. Akiva’s hand moves from Andy’s stomach to hook around his waist, pulling him forward in a stumbling step that leaves them pressed hip to hip. They don’t have to shout over the music anymore to hear each other. In fact, Andy is convinced he doesn’t have to talk at all because Akiva can read his mind, like their thoughts are a shared currency.

“Good, right?”

Akiva’s eyes are still closed and he’s still moving in rhythm but slower, softer, sliding against Andy. “Yeah, it’s good,” he says, fingers edging beneath the waistband of Andy’s jeans. Andy breathes in deeply of the smoky air that’s pulsing around him, pleasure spiking in his veins.

“I kinda wanna kiss you, Kiv,” he says, rolling his hips, wrapping his arms tighter around slim shoulders. “Would that be okay?” When Akiva looks at him his pupils are huge, but all of the anxiety is gone and he looks vibrant and alive.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and then their lips are together and Andy tastes sweat and tequila.

***

“Seriously, you need to stop. Drink some water.”

“I don’t need to do shit!” Jorma yells gleefully. “I feel fucking fantastic!”

The girls glance uneasily at each other. One of them lays a hand tentatively on Jorma’s shoulder.

“You’ve danced enough. They’re gonna close the club soon.”

“They’re never gonna close the club, this night is gonna last forever! I am invincible!”

“That’s nice, but really. Slow down.”

“Screw you, bitch! I can do what I want!”

The girl sighs, turns back to her friends. “Fine. Whatever. We tried.”

***

It’s like Andy’s kiss is a part of the music. Every swell is the soft press of his mouth, tongue tracing a melody across Akiva’s teeth. His body is tingling so hard it’s a constant vibration and he can’t feel the floor under his feet anymore. Andy’s fingers settle on his neck, the pulse point, fingers that are controlling his heartbeat until it’s synchronised with the rhythm of the kiss and the pounding music both, slick curve of lips and sweet warmth spilling into him. Akiva doesn’t even know if he’s still breathing, everything is in the flow of the music and the push of Andy’s body, solid against him but at the same time a part of him, the whole night is a part of him and he is a part of it.

***

Jorma is dripping a river of sweat as he moves but he doesn’t care, no longer cares about anything but the music and dancing. His eyes are closed so he doesn’t notice that there is a circle of empty space around him, and on the perimeter people are staring and laughing. His arms windmill out from his body in spastic motions and every few seconds he stumbles, trips over his own feet, his coordination wrecked by the alcohol. To the people watching, he looks like some kind of a possessed puppet jerking arrhythmically, a skinny kid with no shirt on who can’t handle the drugs he’s on and has no idea how retarded he looks right now.

But in Jorma’s mind, he owns the dance floor. He is King of the night. Long live the King.

***

He can feel Andy smiling, the quirk of lips against his, fingers sliding over his back beneath his clothes, feels like they’re dragging through him, pulling him somewhere. Everything is bliss, it’s him and Andy floating in this club, sharing every feeling until he’s not afraid to whisper things into Andy’s ear, warm breath making Andy shudder, the movement reaching both of them. He whispers secrets that he knows Andy will repeat back to him because he feels amazing and it’s with Andy, because of Andy. Wet mouth against his neck, hot and wet, he opens his eyes for what feels like the first time and the lights are still flashing, blinding. His hands wrapped around Andy’s hips, both of them still moving in lazy patterns against each other.

Then, the music stops. Andy doesn’t notice at first because he can still hear it in Akiva’s breathing, in his own pulse. But slowly he realises there’s a layer now missing from the experience.

Before he can process this, the house lights come up.

Akiva doesn’t know how long ecstasy is supposed to last or how quickly you come down from it, but the loss of the darkness throws him back into his body with a jolt and he’s standing way too close to Andy. Ridiculously too close. He can breathe in the heat rising from his body, that’s how too close he is.

“Oh my God you guys!”

Jorma’s voice cuts through the moment, booming above the ringing in their ears, rich with amazed laughter. Akiva’s hands are detached from Andy’s hips and held up defensively in a second, big step backwards, don’t look at Andy for Christ’s sake. “Hey, Jorma. We should get going. Place is closing, right?”

“Yeah,” Andy agrees, and his voice is rough, slower than usual. “Let’s roll.”

***

“Total fags,” Jorma is laughing, the bandanna still around his neck, shirt and jacket lost in the night. Andy rolls his eyes, coming down.

“It was the x, man.”

“Hey, I didn’t fuckin’ make out with Kiv!”

“We had to stop you from humping the fucking bar, Jorm!” Andy’s arm is around Akiva’s shoulders, keeping him steady. Akiva feels a little shaky and the streetlights are too bright, but essentially everything is okay. Physically, anyway.

“Only ‘cause those dumb bitches wouldn’t put out.”

“Wow, Jorma, you are a total asshole,” Akiva says, the first thing he’s said since they left the club.

“It’s the tequila. Man I _love_ tequila!” Jorma grins a wide, idiotic grin that swiftly disappears as his hands fly to his stomach. “Oh crap, wait...” He stumbles to the gutter in time to start puking, coughing in between spasms.

Andy just watches, amused. “Ending the night like a champ there, Jorm,” he says, making Akiva giggle. Since he had nothing else to drink after he took the pill, Andy is feeling relatively normal now. There’s no doubt about the fact that Jorma is wasted, and will most likely pay for it in the morning.

After the gutter puke-a-thon they make it back to the apartment unscathed, maybe thirty minutes before the sun is due to come up. Jorma stumbles straight into his bedroom and slams the door, and Andy sighs.

“I’d better leave some water on that douchebag’s nightstand.” He fills up a pitcher from the kitchen sink and dispatches it to Jorma’s room, where he is already passed out on his back on top of the covers, shoes still on. Andy eases the shoes off and heaves his friend onto his side before exiting the room, leaving the door ajar. “That kid,” he says to himself, somehow managing a perfect blend of fondness and contempt. Akiva snorts.

“You’re the youngest, idiot.”

“But Jorma is the dumbest.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

Andy jams his hands into his pockets and fixes Akiva with his best concerned expression.

“How you doing, man?”

Akiva nods, looking around the room as he does so. “Good. I’m doing good.” His mind flashes back to that moment, the instant when the last song of the night ended and he’d realised exactly what position he was in, and who with. The hoodie doesn’t keep out the shiver that hits him from remembering. For a fraction of a second he thinks Andy feels it too, a symptom of the last of the x draining out of his system. “I guess I should get some sleep,” he says, just needing to get out of there, repress the memories of what happened tonight, forget everything but ‘never take ecstasy again’.

He can feel sweat drying in his hair. Tomorrow everything needs to be the same as it always was. Forget the stupid things they might or might not have done while out of it at some dive club. Andy means too incredibly much to him to lose.

Maybe Andy isn’t all the way sober yet because he tilts his head as these thoughts pass through Akiva’s brain, taking a step closer.

“Kiv? It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Akiva says, forcing casual. “I don’t think I’ll be trying that shit again, though.”

“Come on,” Andy says, trademark smile on his face, the one that lifts the left side of his mouth. “Nothing bad happened.”

“That, my friend, depends very much on your definition of ‘bad’,” Akiva replies, and he thinks what the hell, might as well try to laugh about it. “No offense, Andy, but you weren’t supposed to be top of my to-do list tonight.” Andy’s laugh is generous and Akiva starts to feel better. “I guess you’re right though. It’s not like we killed someone.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“So that explains the body in the alley.”

They’re both smiling now, the atmosphere familiar. Part of Andy doesn’t want to risk breaking that again. But it’s a bigger part of him that needs to know for sure, and this will be his last opportunity to blame it on the x if everything goes wrong, one more shot before this night gets swept under the rug to be danced around for the rest of their lives.

“Akiva? Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Akiva says slowly, suddenly fascinated by the chipping paintwork on the door. Andy sighs and crosses the worn carpet in a few strides, eliminating most of the distance between them. He knows Akiva too well and his barriers have always been verbal; if he tries to reach him with words he will never break through them all. It’s a time for action. His arms are around Akiva before the other man can even think to protest, pulling him in close.

“We shared something tonight, man,” he says softly, waiting for Akiva to stop tensing in his arms. “Drugs or no drugs. You know that, Kiv. I know you know that.”

“You’re still high,” Akiva says, but there’s a huge amount of doubt in his voice.

“Just let me say one thing then it’s over, I swear,” Andy says. The way Akiva fits in his arms is bizarrely perfect; he’s been there most of the night and he’s there again now. Andy might have only done ecstasy once before but he’s not stupid. “Drugs can lower your inhibitions,” he tells Akiva, squeezing just a little, “but that’s all.”

“What are you trying to say?” Akiva’s voice comes out shaky.

“I’m saying,” Andy leans in close, lets his mouth touch Akiva’s neck, does feel his shiver this time, a movement that ripples through him. “All that shit I said in the club is still true. Always has been.”

Akiva sighs and relaxes in Andy’s arms. “Thank God. That explains a lot.”

Andy pulls back with a frown. “What, that’s it? You don’t have anything else to say?”

“Should I?”

“A ‘me too’ would be nice, asshole.”

“Yeah, but you already knew that.” Akiva grins and feels like his old self for the first time since they left the apartment at the start of the night, and it’s not in spite of what happened in the club, but maybe because of it. Andy grins right back, fingers finding their way into Akiva’s hair. Then he glances down and frowns again.

“Dude, you’re wearing my shirt?”

Akiva blinks, looks down at his chest, the yellow shirt with ‘Andy’ printed across the front. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why?”

“Is that really the issue right now, Andy?” His arms slide around Andy’s waist. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been looking for that shirt for weeks, man.”

Akiva sighs. “The limitations of your attention span are incredible.”

“I just really like that shirt, man.” Then Andy’s frown melts into a soft smile. “It looks good on you, though. You can have it if you want.”

“I don’t want a shirt with your name on it, that would be weird.”

“So why are you wearing it?”

“Because I didn’t do laundry this week, God! Get over it! Can we please just go to sleep now?”

Andy leans back and makes a puppy dog face. “You just want to sleep?”

“Fine.” Akiva rolls his eyes, hooking his thumbs into Andy’s waistband, fingers splaying over his hips. “I guess we can make out some more before we go to sleep.”

Andy grins, eyes dancing with excitement. “Thanks, Kiv, you’re the best!” And with that he’s dragging Akiva into his bedroom and slamming the door behind them, just as the first hint of dawn starts to spread across the sky outside.


End file.
